our vacation warranted a long, hot bath and a four hour nap, three cans of coke and a big pizza. I'm feeling much better now. My ass is not cut out for long motorcycle trips, and my body is too old to cope with more than one after-dinner amaro (and certainly not four). But, that being said, it was a lovely adventure in Croatia, and a great way to spend a weekend.

We went to a town called Premantura, which is on the edge of a national park surrounded by the sea. Upon arrival I was faint with heat and sleep deprivation, though I tried my hardest to keep a smile on my face and be very go-with-the-flow-ish. Finding accommodation in Croatia is always an adventure in itself, and we hadn't factored in that it is august, which is Italy's Vacation Month, when everyone flees the country, leaving it to tourists and immigrants who don't know any better. Croatia in August is to Italians what Florence in August is to Americans: A romantic, foreign place to go, where the locals will cater hand-and-foot to give the tourists the food they imagine is "authentic" (though it is really just a local version of the tourists' normal diet), speak the language(s) of the tourists instead of the local language, and basically make it as much like the tourists' home as possible in order to make then feel comfortable and get them to spend money. Everyone spoke Italian to us immediately, all the restaurants assured us that they served pizza, and Italian soccer highlight clips flashed across many a TV inside small, rustic bars packed with sun-glass-sporting vacationers.
Finding a room took all afternoon; everything was full. We finally stumble upon a cute little hotel off the main strip, literally because I followed my nose: they were roasting a pig on a spit out front. Though my pasta baby from the night before was continuing to develop inside me, I couldn't help but stare longingly at the crispy skin, fat sizzling on the steaming rocks below.



Just as I was about to climb inside the grill and devour the succulent little porchellina, FL came and woke me from my trace. They had a room available, and it had a shower, so I agreed to hold off on the pig till dinner.
And what a dinner it was! Just perfection! Risotto with black squid ink, a cool octopus salad, mixed mussels (unappetizingly translated on the menu to "mixed measles"), and grilled squid. The beer was ample and by the end of the evening I was convinced that finally, probably, I would be able to sleep through the night.
Saturday we rode out to the national forest to spend the day at the beach. The road as bumpy and rocky, but the landscape was phenomenal. It was both lush with brush and fat, squat trees and incredibly dry and dusty, curry bushes, oregano, and rosemary growing wild amongst the white, what? limestone?



The sea was visible all around at certain peaks in the road, and white sailboats dotted the horizon. At the end of the road we parked the motorcycle back in some bushes, and FL led me down a steep trail. It went right through the middle of a sugar cane forest, and we hiked up and down, deep into the forest until we could hardly see the sky through the canopy of kiwi leaves. Music started to come to us and we followed it into an amazing little clearing, some sort of tiki bar dug out into the brush.



There were little shacks made out of reeds and sugar cane where people could sit on carved pieces of wood and rocks stacked into benches. A huge trough was filled with what a wooden sign said was sangria, and we were instructed to serve ourselves. The area went on and on in every direction, tiny private coves and jungle gym-style games to play. After a while we came out through another trail, and down below was the sea. Bright blue, rippling, jagged rocks poking out creating tiny islands. We hiked for a while and saw a place the looked nice, our own private little cove.



There was a huge flat rock on which to sun ourselves, easy access into and out of the water (this is key; the beaches in Croatia are dangerous. Not flat and comfortable, but deadly and spiky, and one must make sure to have an exit strategy before jumping in), and a shady little tide pool where FL stashed our bottles of water like a good boy scout. The day was spent here, taking dips, splashing around in our masks watching all the pretty little fish swim down on the bottom. The water is so clear.




Fav quote: "Che bella che sei sotto l'aqua; sei tutto sparkle!"


Around 4 o'clock some weird Austrians showed up and got completely nude, which alerted us to the fact that we were becoming rather pink ourselves. Made our way home, showered, had a nice dinner...watched the groom at a wedding at the hotel get pummeled by who I am assuming is the father of the baby growing inside the bride...

Good times.

The ride home was hot and hangovery and we stopped intermittently to drink cokes and smooch and be sweet on one another and discuss how pretty everything was. By the time we got home I was numb of ass and starving, and FL made me snack fit for a hefty toppolino that put me right to sleep. Sundays are our best days: they mean movies, snuggles, and pizza. Which is what I am going to return to now.